


Fourteen Days

by Disenchantedglow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Battle of Hogwarts, F/M, Filmione, Horcrux Hunting, Soulmates, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22844479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disenchantedglow/pseuds/Disenchantedglow
Summary: Hermione was only meant to be in the past for exactly fourteen days. It'd hopefully be just enough time to complete her mission. She hadn't planned on meeting someone from her past who could completely change her life.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Argus Filch
Comments: 17
Kudos: 48





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bionically](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionically/gifts).



> Thank you to my ever amazing Beta bionically who puts up with my insane ideas and who stays up until all hours of the night talking with me. She also made this beautiful aesthetic!

**Part One**

**March 1945**

**Day 2**

Hermione's knees smarted and her palms stung, the sensitive skin burning against the cold, rough stone of the dungeon hallway. She kept her head low and closed her eyes, the whispering and sniggering from the other students ringing in her ears. She had only been here two days— _two days!_ — and already she was questioning the prudence of this decision.

She knew travelling back in time over half a century would pose significant challenges. She had gone over them ad nauseum with the boys, constantly reminding herself what a challenge it would be to go back in hopes of securing information about Voldemort's Horcruxes, while also trying not to ruin the timeline they were from. She had even thought of all the little details— how hair and robe styles would be slightly different from modern times, how dialect and even etiquette would vary from what they were used to.

Of course they had decided it would be Hermione who would travel back in time. Harry was too close to Voldemort—they were afraid a young Tom Riddle would somehow sense the connection between them. Ron, with his distinctive red hair was too recognisable as a Weasley to travel to the past and hope to remain anonymous. Hermione had revised her third year notes on time travel in order to prepare as best she could for what a 1940s Hogwarts would have in store for her. 

Unfortunately what she hadn't counted on was the reception from the other students. She had assumed she'd keep a relatively low profile, attending classes during the day and quietly researching Horcruxes and watching Tom Riddle in the evening. In reality, a new seventh year, mid-term transfer student stuck out worse than a niffler in a jewelry shop. From the moment she had stepped into the Great Hall yesterday with the Ravenclaw prefect after a quick sorting in Headmaster Dippet's office, all eyes had been on her. 

The whispering had followed her throughout the day, the sidelong glances alerting her to their topic of gossip. Now she was sprawled on the floor, cheeks pink with embarrassment, not knowing whose foot, exactly, it was she had tripped over but knowing it was done purposefully. None of her classmates stepped forward to help her, not even her house prefect who had been standing there with a group of girlfriends seconds before Hermione hit the ground. 

Hermione waited just a moment longer, collecting her composure before she attempted to stand. She would need to visit the infirmary before bed tonight and get some bruise salve for her knees, but other than that, she didn't think any permanent damage had occurred. Taking a deep breath, she slowly opened her eyes, surprised to see a pair of heavy brown boots directly in front of her.

They were old, the soles almost worn completely flat, but obviously well cared for. The chestnut leather gleamed under a fresh coat of shoe polish. She slowly raised her eyes, following the boots up to long legs encased in black traditional wizarding trousers. A hand was outstretched before her, silently offering assistance. 

She clasped it without thinking, a small shiver running down her back as his skin touched hers. She released his hand but stood silently for a moment next to him, wiping the dust off her hands on the fabric of her skirt, flattening the hem against the tops of her thighs nervously. 

"Thank you." Hermione finally raised her head, surprised to see a young man around her age standing before her. She had assumed her good Samaritan was a professor since none of the other students seemed predisposed to be of help, but this wizard before her looked much too young to be teaching. 

He wore a simple button-down shirt, the cuffs rolled up to just below his elbows, displaying wiry forearms. The white of the fabric stood out brightly against all the black student robes of those congregated in the dungeon. His face was still, warm brown eyes never leaving hers as he inclined his head silently towards her, acknowledging her thanks. His hair was slightly mussed, a lock of brown hair fell over his forehead as though he had just run his hands through it.

Hermione opened her mouth to ask him something, perhaps his name or just to find someone to talk to for the two weeks she would be here. Before a word could come out, he had turned on his heel and walked away, boots heavy against the stone steps of the dungeon as he made his way towards the stairs. 

His exit seemed to launch the others into motion. In the next moment, the hallway was full of the sounds of students working their way toward their next class. Hermione cast a discreet _tempus_ and cursed to herself. If she didn't hurry, she'd be late for Transfiguration.

She saw him again in both of her afternoon classes; each time slinking into the classroom well after the bell had rung, not garnering admonishments from Professor Dumbledore nor Professor DeWitt for his tardiness. He was fascinating to her, his lack of school robe and house tie posing a mystery that she just itched to solve.

Who was this young man who sat in the back of every class eschewing start times and the strict Hogwarts dress code while simultaneously paying rapt attention to the lectures? No matter how much effort she put into listening to the lectures herself, she couldn't stop her eyes from drifting to the figure in the back corner, watching as his quill moved quickly across the parchment in front of him. 

Halfway through Charms, her last class of the day, Hermione looked at him for the third time in as many minutes. This time, instead of merely seeing the top of his head as he studiously wrote down everything Professor DeWitt said, she turned to see him looking directly at her, eyes trained on her face as a small smile raised the left corner of his lips.

She hastily spun back around, grasping for the forgotten quill on the desktop in front of her. She tried to concentrate on the advanced charmwork that was being taught. She should be taking advantage of any schooling she could in this time instead of ogling another student and potential mystery. _Priorities, Hermione._

It was useless. She had gotten his attention, apparently. Her cheeks flushed as she tried to focus on the teacher, all the while feeling the heat of his gaze on her back for the rest of the class period.

**Day 4**

Hermione knew she needed to focus. She was running out of time. Four of her fourteen days were already lost and she was no closer to figuring out Tom Riddle. The spell was very specific with its time frame. Mission completed or not, she would be whisked back to her own time exactly fourteen days from the moment she intoned the spell. When she, Harry, and Ron found the time travel ritual hidden in the depths of the Black library, they had discussed all the ways it could be used to help them. They couldn't _kill_ Voldemort outright—no, that would change too many things in the past. But a mission to find out information they needed in the future? It could be what they needed to determine the locations of the remaining horcrux. 

The plan was simple. Hermione would recite the spell, go back to Tom Riddle's final year at Hogwarts, and either befriend him or learn enough about him that locating the final horcrux would be child's play. Easy. 

Except.

Tom Riddle wasn't that easy to get to know. 

Hermione looked over the top of her book, watching Riddle as he sat with a group of Slytherins at the round table in the middle of the library floor. Not much had changed in the Hogwarts library in 50 years; that large center table was still the place for the more popular students to lounge, ostensibly studying but, in reality, soaking in the attention that being well-liked afforded them. 

Of course Riddle studied there. He was every teacher's dream student and every girl's dream boyfriend, but he gave her the creeps. There was something about his eyes. They were cold and lifeless and seemed to bite through her soul when he turned them in her direction. She shivered now just thinking about it. 

She knew she should go over there. Should collect her things and go settle in the empty chair at the popular table and pretend to be another adoring fan of the young Tom Riddle. The other students may give her a hard time, but she was the mysterious new girl who appeared halfway through seventh year, and one thing she knew about the young future Dark Lord was that he _hated_ not knowing something. 

As she observed him, his gaze suddenly turned in her direction, his dark eyes boring into her as though trying to read her mind. She slammed up her admittedly weak Occlumency shields that she'd taught herself in hopes of helping Harry and tore her gaze from his. Merlin, he gave her the creeps. There was something so menacing about him that she wondered why his companions didn’t feel it also.

Now more loathe than ever to speak with him, Hermione let her gaze wander to the small, two-person table hidden down the aisle next to her. Through an empty space on the shelf she could just barely make out the broad shoulders of its single occupant. Her heart sped up at the sight of the boy without school colours sitting there. Maybe this was her opportunity to finally have a proper conversation with someone from this time.

Before she could overthink it, she shoved her books and parchment into her bag and slung it over her shoulder, determinedly making her way to his shadowed table. 

"Do you mind if I sit here?" She tossed her bookbag to the floor and settled herself in the available wooden chair, not waiting for his answer. "Is that the Runes essay? I thought it was due this morning."

His eyes flickered over to hers quickly over the top of his open book before returning quickly to the pages in front of him. "I know you're new here, but surely by now you've picked up on the fact that you should _not_ be seen talking to me." 

Hermione's mind turned over his words, confused. Why shouldn’t she speak to him, when he appeared just as solitary as she was? Despite her reason for traveling half a century into the past, she hadn't really spoken much to anyone: Headmaster Dippet when she provided her cobbled together story for her midterm arrival, the Ravenclaw prefect who showed her to her dorm, and her professors when called upon. She desperately avoided the twinkling gaze of Albus Dumbledore, too afraid of totally bollocksing up the future to call attention to herself.

She truly didn't know much about this young man. She knew he had been kind to her when she needed a helping hand, but everything else was just suppositions and impressions. 

What she _did_ know was that there was something about him. Something that she couldn't name, something that she couldn't pinpoint, something that inexorably drew her to him. 

She mentally shrugged and held out her hand, determined to ignore his standoffishness. 

"I'm Hermione."

He placed his book open on the table, spine side up. He stared at her hand a moment before finally meeting her gaze and extending his own hand.

When his skin touched hers, she couldn't help the goosebumps that ran up the length of her arm. It was just like the first time he had grasped her hand in his. 

"Gus."

**Day 6**

"Gus!" Hermione jogged through the doorway, tugging on the strap of her slipping bookbag and looking around the Trophy Room in confusion. "What are you doing in here? You missed the animagus lesson in Transfiguration this morning!"

He shrugged, dropping to the floor the rag he had been using. "Pringle made me shine the trophies. I would have liked to be there, but my chores come first."

"Chores?"

"Yes. The duties I have to perform as assistant caretaker?" He tilted his head, looking at her questioningly.

"Oh, yes. Of course."

Not of course. Hermione really had no idea what he was talking about. If he was Pringle's assistant, she wondered if it was due to lack of funds. Maybe Hogwarts couldn't provide full scholarships to everyone who needed one in this time? Or maybe it was like an apprenticeship, and Gus wanted to one day take over for Pringle?

Hermione didn't know what else to say, and Gus didn't seem to mind her silence, so she followed behind him when he bade her to. He led the way towards the Caretaker's office, holding open the door so she could step inside in front of him. 

"Give me just a minute. I need to put this stuff away and grab my bag; then we can head up to the library."

"Take your time," Hermione said, looking around the office, observing all the differences from the last time she'd seen it, fifty years in the future. In her time, chains and manacles hung from the walls and the ceilings were lit by a single oil lamp. This office though, while stark and utilitarian, resembled any other large cleaning cupboard one might find in the Muggle world. A large wooden desk sat in the very center surrounded by filing cabinets. On the far wall, cleaning supplies were stored on open shelving, sorted alphabetically.

As Gus replaced his supplies, Hermione was drawn to the pile of parchments rolled and stacked on the desk, remembering the story of the twins finding the Marauder's Map. She ran her fingers along the scrolls, accidentally dislodging one and causing an avalanche of paper. As she began to replace them, she couldn’t help but read the titles.

_Double Meanings in Runic Language_

_The Properties of Dragon Blood and its Uses_

_Charting the Night Sky, 26 Feb 1945_

Hermione's forehead wrinkled in confusion. These were all essays. _Gus's_ essays. All ungraded. 

"Gus?" she called, still sorting through the parchments. "Why do you have a pile of ungraded essays on your desk?"

"Hmmm?" he replied, his back still toward her as he finished with his supplies. "What did you say?"

"The essays. Why do you still have them?"

Gus turned around and looked at her finally, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, what else should I do with them?"

"Turn them in? Get a grade?" Hermione didn't understand why that wouldn't be the obvious course of action.

"What use would a Squib have for Hogwarts grades?" He walked over to where she was standing, pulling the parchment from her hands and tossing it into the rubbish bin on the side of the desk. He proceeded to take each of the other parchments in turn, sending them all to the bin.

When Hermione finally recovered from her shock, she scrabbled for the essay in his hand, tearing it from him before he could dispose of it as well.

"Squib?"

"Yes. Squib. I'm a Squib, Hermione, I thought you knew. It's no secret; everyone knows. It's why they all avoid me."

"But you go to classes! And study! And write essays!"

"Yes, Headmaster Dippet and the other professors are all very accommodating as long as I remain circumspect and don't neglect my duties."

"But why? Why do you do all the work if it won't be graded?"

"Because I want to _learn._ I don't _want_ to be a bloody caretaker here! I want to be an archeologist. Travel the world and discover new ones. I may not have magic but I'm still worth something. I'm worth more than a dead-end job cleaning up after students who are too lazy to flick their own wands and do it themselves!"

Hermione just stared at him, words once again failing her. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, internally yelling at herself to _say something, anything, dammit._

She was saved finally from having to reply when Caretaker Pringle waddled into the office. 

"Mr Filch. You know this office is off limits to students."

"I'm sorry, Mr Pringle, I didn't mean to intrude. I'll just be—" Hermione spoke automatically, her innate response to authority taking over before her brain could process everything he just said.

Wait.

Filch? _Filch?!_

Gus was Gus _Filch_ , a _Squib?_

Was Gus— _Argus_ Filch?

Her brain shut down, and she couldn't complete her sentence. She turned on her heel and left the room, maintaining a sedate pace until she reached the main hall. When she finally stepped into the moving staircase, she started running, not stopping until she reached her four-poster bed at the very top of Ravenclaw tower. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

**Day 8**

He was avoiding her. Hermione couldn't blame him, really. Her reaction to finding out his true identity had not been her best moment.

He hadn't been in class yesterday or today, and she hated the fact that he was skipping lessons because of  _ her.  _ She truly didn't care that he was a Squib. She was a Muggleborn for Merlin's sake. She knew what life without magic was like. 

Truth be told, finding out Gus—smart, kind, handsome _ Gus _ —was really  _ Argus Filch  _ had thrown her completely off kilter. She just couldn't seem to correlate the cranky old Caretaker who wanted to torture children with this young man who had so many plans. What had happened to his dream of becoming an archeologist? 

Last night, after being unable to track down Gus to apologise, she had made herself focus on her reason for being here. Half of her time was gone, and she was no closer to her goal. She had found Riddle in the library, a seat open directly to his left, but she just  _ couldn't _ . She couldn't make herself reach out and sit there, no matter that she was supposed to be getting to know him. 

Every time he got too close to her, her skin crawled. This boy had gotten Hagrid expelled and Myrtle  _ killed _ . He would grow up to kill not only her best friend's parents but hundreds if not  _ thousands _ of others. He orchestrated Albus Dumbledore's death. Hermione couldn't stand to look at him. She wished she could just Avada him now. It would solve so many problems. 

She had forced herself to sit and watch him, paying attention to everyone he spoke to, hoping that one of them could prove useful back in her own time. It hadn't been long though before Riddle turned to her, raising his eyebrows as he caught her watching him. She'd quickly packed up her bags after that and fled the library, huddling under the protection of her four-poster, shivering from the cold that seemed to soak into her bones after every encounter with the future Lord Voldemort.

Hermione sighed now and cast a quick  _ tempus _ to check how many minutes were left in class. Binns hadn't changed at all in fifty years, and he still droned on about the Goblin Wars, making the class seem twice as long as it should be. She shifted in her chair, struggling to pay attention to the material with everything else on her mind. Thank Merlin lunch was next. She wanted nothing more than to grab a quick bite to eat in the Great Hall and then look for Gus to apologise. She'd only known him a few days, but he was her only friend in this time. Her guilt was eating at her. 

The bell rang and she sprang from her seat, her quill and parchment already stored in the bag at her hip. She rushed to the Great Hall, entering only to exit a mere moment later with an apple and sandwich wrapped in a napkin to take with her as she searched the castle. 

She finally found him in an abandoned classroom on the third floor. He was sitting at the professor's desk in the front of the room, books and parchment spread across its dusty surface.

"Hey."

He looked up from his studying, staring at her a moment before he said anything.

"Hey."

Hermione walked into the room and pulled a student desk closer to where Gus sat. She gingerly perched on top of it and took a deep breath.

"I looked for you last night. You weren't in any classes or the library, and I couldn't find you."

"Oh really?" He asked. His voice was hard, but his face was hidden from her view behind his book, and she couldn't accurately gauge his mood. "Could have fooled me. I saw you, you know, even though you apparently didn't see me. You didn't seem to be looking for me too hard."

"What! When?" Her legs stopped swinging, and she straightened her spine, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

"In the library. You were sitting at that table you prefer—the one where you can watch  _ him. _ I may not be magical, but I'm not an idiot, you know. I know Squibs aren't really popular amongst witches. I  _ know _ they usually prefer powerful wizards. And Riddle is that—powerful." Gus raised his head and stared directly at her, causing her heart to flutter in her chest. "Be careful there. He may be powerful, but he's not...light."

Hermione didn't know what to say. She wanted to tell him everything, all her reasons for following and watching Riddle, but she was bound by the fear of changing the future she came from. But she had to tell him  _ something _ .

"You're wrong, you know. I may have been watching him, but I'm not interested in him. I don't want to—" she shuddered at the memory of those creepy dead eyes " _ —date _ him. Merlin, no!"

"Good," Gus replied, his voice unusually harsh. "There's something odd about him. Something I can't put my finger on. I've caught him around the castle. Never doing anything wrong, but just acting strangely. By himself staring at blank walls in deserted corridors, inside the trophy room while everyone else was at dinner. He's up to something."

She slid off the desk and walked around to the side of the larger desk where Gus sat. She stood behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder, the warmth from his skin soaking through his cotton shirt and into her frigid fingertips.

"And I want to apologise. I don't care that you can't perform magic! My parents are Muggles—magic is amazing, but it's not everything. There's plenty of life to experience and enjoy outside of it. I'm sorry I ran and gave you the wrong impression."

"Why did you then? Run?" he asked, looking anywhere but at her. At least he hadn’t shrugged off her hand.

"When Caretaker Pringle came in… he—said your name. And until that moment I hadn't known your last name. And I recognised it. From my ti—home. I thought that maybe you were the same person I knew from before. But you're not, are you? He was nasty and mean and—and you're  _ nothing  _ like him. I'm sorry."

Gus slowly turned in his chair to face Hermione. He reached up for her hand on his shoulder and held it for a moment, frowning down at it. She sighed at the contact. So warm.

"Are  _ you  _ alright?” he asked instead of responding to her apology. “Your skin is like ice. And you look tired."

Hermione knew the dark circles under her eyes were doing her no favours. She'd been so stressed with trying to figure out the last Horcrux. On top of that she'd been so worried she'd offended Gus. She'd been called Mudblood so many times, she knew what it felt like to be looked down upon. She didn't want him to think his magical status had any bearing at all on their friendship. Plus, the Ravenclaw tower, while beautiful and airy, just didn't have the same cozy warmth and crackling fireplaces Gryffindor boasted. It all combined to make her a swirling mess of anxiety at night. She was lucky to catch a full five hours of sleep.

She nodded. "I haven't been sleeping well. It's so cold up in the tower, and my warming charms aren't holding throughout the night."

Gus looked at her and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. "You need more blankets. It's always cold this time of year. The castle can be drafty. I sleep piled under blankets. It's the only way I can stay warm since I don't have the convenience of warming charms." He smiled, taking the edge off of his words. "You should ask the house elves for another blanket."

Hermione frowned. She hated the idea of asking the elves to do anything, but it was probably the only way she'd sleep throughout the night. He was right. "I will." 

That night, after an afternoon full of classes and Tom Riddle watching her with narrowed eyes, Hermione finally stripped off her clothes and pulled her nightgown over her head. Merlin, she was ready to sleep. She pushed the bed coverings to the side and prepared to climb in, already bleary-eyed and half-asleep. Turning down the covers, she quickly pulled her hand back when, instead of the smooth cool fabric of her pillowcase, her fingers brushed something slightly scratchy. Suddenly more alert, she turned her head to the foreign object and spotted a black, heavy-knit woolen blanket folded on her pillow. 

Gus. 

She hadn't had time to request another pillow from the house-elves, so he must have done it for her. He truly was one of the most thoughtful people she'd ever met. She reached out and grabbed the blanket, holding it to her chest. She buried her face in it, attempting to soak in as much of its warmth as she could.

_ Freshly mown grass. _

_ New parchment. _

_ Spearmint toothpaste. _

_ Furniture polish.  _

Gus hadn't asked the elves to provide her another blanket. He'd given her one of his own.

With a smile, Hermione wrapped the blanket around herself, basking in its comforting scent. Fully swaddled, she crawled into bed, charming the quilt to cover her and the blanket. She closed her eyes, and, for the first time since she had started sleeping in the Ravenclaw tower, she slept through the entire night.

**Day 10**

Hermione sighed and pulled her cloak more tightly around her torso. It was a dreary, drizzly cold morning, the kind that reminded you that winter wasn't quite finished yet. She hadn't wanted to get out of her warm bed, cocooned in the warmth of her Hogwarts issued coverlet and Gus's blanket as she was. She definitely hadn't wanted to walk all the way down to Hogsmeade when Gus was forced to stay at the castle and help Caretaker Pringle scrub the classrooms. 

She had begrudgingly got out of bed and hissed as her bare feet touched the cold stone floor. She threw on whatever clothes were within easy reach, tied her hair up into a semblance of control, and, at the last minute, had grabbed the thick woolen blanket that had finally managed to stave off the chill of night. She shoved it into her worn beaded bag and then hid the bag at the bottom of her book satchel. If nothing else, the hunt for Horcruxes had taught her to always overpack. Just in case. 

She was shivering now as she opened the heavy oak door to the Three Broomsticks, wishing she could wrap herself in Gus's blanket without drawing unwanted attention. Instead she cast another inadequate wandless warming charm and settled herself into a back booth.

Hermione had followed Riddle and his cronies into the pub and watched now as they ordered Butterbeer from the barmaid. She ordered her own drink and cradled its warmth between her palms. She desperately needed to learn something today. She'd been here a week and a half and had nothing to show for her time except the absolute knowledge that Tom Riddle was just as dangerous as a teenager as he was as the Dark Lord. Maybe more so. People expect evil from reptilian-looking dark wizards, but it was exceedingly unexpected when it came from a boyish face.

She'd been spending too much of her time with Gus, but she couldn't seem to make herself give up his company. He was great. She'd never met someone as eager for knowledge as she herself was. She had always considered herself scholastically minded, but she craved the dopamine rush that getting top grades gave her. Gus was self-motivated, doing the work without any positive feedback, relying on his own drive and determination. He not only sat in on all the Hogwarts classes he could, but he also bought Muggle books to expand his knowledge. He was fascinated by languages and had taught himself French and Italian. He was currently studying Arabic, inspired by the new archeological excavations at Tell Hassuna in modern day Mesopotamia.

He wanted to take his love of language and ancient runes and travel the world, studying and learning from historic sites. She couldn't help but be drawn to his enthusiasm and ambition for his future. He made her start to think about her own future, about the time when the war would finally be over and she could do whatever she wanted. The world would be her limit.

Hermione shook herself from her reverie, bringing her attention back to the wizards two tables away. The pub was so loud with all the students crowding in to get out of the cold that she couldn't hear anything. She stuck her arm in her satchel, rummaging around inside the beaded bag for the twins’ Extendable Ears. She pulled them out triumphantly, smiling to herself before sticking one end in her ear and letting the other creep across the wooden floor.

The boys were laughing, sniggering at a joke Riddle seemed to have just said.

"And of course Old Sluggy had no idea I'd made the switch," he continued, leaning back in his chair, one hand clutching his mug of Butterbeer, the other flung out behind the chair next to him. His own chair was precariously balanced on the back two legs. 

"He asked me, but obviously as Head Boy I would never lie to a  _ Professor." _

There was a mumble from someone else, his words obscured by the coughing of his neighbour, and Hermione's brow furrowed in irritation.

"...no, I hid it. Sluggy won't be able to ever find it and pin it on me. I've got a place on the seventh floor where I can keep things. No one is able to get in but me."

Riddle suddenly looked up, slamming the front two legs of his chair back to the floor. It seemed as though he was looking directly into her eyes, even as hidden as she was in the shadows. 

"Come on, you lot," he said, still staring at where Hermione sat as still as she possibly could. "It's too crowded here. Let's go somewhere these plebians can't find us."

* * *

Hermione let out a breath, relieved to be done with Tom Riddle for the day. She didn't know how it was possible, but she was  _ certain  _ he had known she was watching him. Listening to him. She needed to be more careful. She couldn't allow her actions now to affect the future. That could be catastrophic.

As she made her way up the winding path back to Hogwarts, her mind dismissed plan after plan of once and for all discovering what Tom Riddle had done with the last Horcrux they had left to discover. Everything she came up with seemed slightly too dangerous. She needed to stop thinking like a Gryffindor and start using some Slytherin cunning.

A sound to the right of her pulled her from her thoughts, and she twirled around, war reflexes putting her wand in her hand before she had even realised she might need it. She pointed it at the large bush beside the lane, holding it steady. “Who’s there?” Her voice shook a little. “Stop hiding and show yourself!”

When her demand went unanswered, she crept closer to the vegetation, and saw the leaves rustle as though someone—or something—was crawling beneath them. She inched closer, her hand extended to grasp one of the trembling branches. She jerked back in surprise as a small, silver-grey kitten tumbled from the leaves. 

"Oh, you poor thing!" 

She replaced her wand in her cloak pocket and reached down to scoop up the shivering ball of fur. It was much too cold to be out here on its own, but she knew she couldn't keep it. She'd be gone in just days and a kitten would need someone to care for it long term. She bit her lips, debating her options. If Hagrid were here, he'd be the perfect candidate, but he was probably at home somewhere after already being expelled from Hogwarts. 

She didn't know Professor Grubbly-Plank that well, and she was trying to avoid any unnecessary contact with anyone else she might know from the future. The kitten wouldn’t stop shivering in her arms. She pulled Gus's warm wool blanket from her bag and wrapped the kitten up in it, holding the bundle against her chest. She inhaled the blanket’s comforting scent—it really was comprised of her favourite fragrances in the world.

Wait a minute. Gus could take the cat! After all, he had Mrs Norris during her time at school. He must be a cat person!

Problem solved. She increased her pace, anxious to get inside the warmth of the castle and find him. Squib or not, he was becoming one of her really good friends.

**Day 11**

Hermione sat with Gus on the banks of the Great Lake, their bodies protected from the chill of the morning dew by the black wool blanket she had pulled out of her bag and spread out beneath them. The as yet unnamed cat rolled in a patch of sun in front of them.

"Sunny."

"I cannot have a cat named something as cheerful as  _ Sunny _ ."

"Chester. Boris." At each shake of his head Hermione offered up another name, determined to have him name the kitten something other than  _ Cat _ . She poked him in his side with her index finger, annoyed he was dismissing all her suggestions. 

Gus grabbed her hand before she could poke him again and held it between his own, running his thumbs lightly over her knuckles. The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile, but he didn't say anything. 

"What about Draco?" Hermione threw it out there, finally having exhausted all other ideas. 

His thumbs on her skin stilled, and he stared at the kitten, now playful stalking an insect as it crawled across their blanket. 

"Dragon. Fierce loyal. I like it." 

Hermione could only stare, mouth agape as Gus turned his smile towards her. She hadn't truly been serious, but now it seemed as though the kitten finally had a name. Draco. She started giggling, her free hand slapping over her mouth. 

Her giggles became guffaws. The ridiculousness of her current situation, the stress of the last seven years, the anxiety of fulfilling her mission, the fear of war—all of it rushed out in a hysterical outburst that she could not for the life of her stop.

Minutes later, when her laughter slowed and turned into hiccups, she rested her head against Gus's shoulder, snuggling into his body heat as she would have done Harry or Ron. He had sat there throughout her entire outburst, watching her without speaking and just simply lending her his presence and a hand for her to hold, as though he knew her laughter went deeper than mere amusement over a cat’s name.

These were the moments Hermione felt most at home here. She knew she had work to do— work that was important to the future—to  _ her _ future—but she couldn't stop herself from wanting to relax and pretend as though the real world problems in her own lifetime didn’t exist. 

When she was with Gus, she felt as though the weight of her worries was lifted off her shoulders. She could just be herself with him, more so than any other person in her life. Harry and Ron were her best friends, and she would love them forever, but she was always the responsible one, the person who got them out of trouble. 

With Gus, she was just Hermione. She could be smart and study just because she liked to, not because it was necessary for survival. Even though he lacked magic, she could discuss charms theory and potions with him, or work on translating ancient runes. With him she felt at home in the magical world in a way she never had before. 

She wanted to tell him everything. Tell him about the war and Voldemort. Tell him about how she came back in time to stalk Tom Riddle. Tell him about how in  _ her _ time, he was a cantankerous old man with seemingly no joy in his life. Tell him how she desperately wanted to prevent that future for him. Tell him that she was  _ leaving _ in three days.

Three more days.

She needed to get up. She should stand up and say goodbye to Gus and find Riddle. She could almost feel the pressure of time in her blood, a clock ticking with every beat of her heart. She couldn't let the boys—the  _ world  _ down. She  _ knew _ this. 

Instead she wrapped her free hand around Gus's bicep, burrowing closer into his side as something like desperation began to build in her stomach. She didn’t know why she was growing so attached to this person from her past. Maybe because she so desperately wanted him to stay this sweet and considerate forever. Maybe because he was all alone in the world, just as she was. 

_ He would be even more alone after she left. _

She'd give them five more minutes. 

Five more minutes.


	3. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get your tissues ready!

**Part Three**

**Day 13**

Hermione sat in the abandoned classroom where Gus liked to study, waiting for him to be finished with his chores for the day. She'd seen him out in the grounds earlier, tending the grass, and knew he didn't have much left to finish. She sat cross-legged on top of the big desk at the front of the room, her eyes closed in a poor attempt at meditation while she waited.

The adrenaline coursed through her body; impossible to control. It made her hands tremor and her legs twitch with the need to  _ do  _ something. 

She'd finally figured it out. After breakfast she'd followed Riddle all the way to the seventh floor and watched as he disappeared through the secret door to the Room of Requirement. In hindsight, it was obviously the perfect place for him to hide a Horcrux, especially since he believed himself to be  _ special _ ; the only one powerful and smart enough to discover the magic of the room. 

Her body had been screaming at her to  _ act _ ever since, but she couldn't. She couldn't risk ruining everything now. If she went and made a grab for the Horcrux, there was a good possibility Riddle would discover it missing and make more. She couldn't risk more Horcruxes appearing in the future. 

So she did nothing. She only had about eight hours left in this time anyway.

Hermione took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out slowly through her mouth. Eight more hours. She didn't know how she was going to tell Gus, but she needed to tell him  _ something _ . She couldn't just disappear without a word. He deserved so much more than that. He'd been such a good friend to her. If they had more time, maybe they would have become more. She almost wished she could stay and explore the possibilities with him. Explore what it would be like to be a normal teen. To get to go on dates with boys and only worry about studying and grades. To not have a self-proclaimed dark lord trying to kill your best friend. 

The creak of the classroom door alerted her to Gus's entrance and her heart rate jumped with anxiety, but she kept her eyes closed. Breathe. In...and out…. She hadn't yet figured out how to tell him she had to leave. She needed more time.

She felt him settle on top of the desk next to her, his shoulder and knee brushing her right side as he sat cross-legged. 

"Hermione, what's wrong?" He grabbed her hand, stopping the anxious rhythm she was tapping with her fingers.

It was a moment before she replied. She took another deep breath, letting it out as she dropped her shoulders. "Just thinking about home. Worrying about what's happening there." 

It wasn't a lie. She  _ was _ worried. Was the future still the same as it was when she left? Had time passed for Harry and Ron at the same speed it had passed for her? Would she appear in 1998 as though she'd never left, or had two weeks passed for the boys as well? Had  _ more _ time passed? Did she mess up and change the timeline accidentally? Did Voldemort already win? Did the Order? There were so many questions, and she couldn't explain  _ any _ of it to Gus.

"What's happened at home? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Hermione pulled her hand out of his and brushed back a strand of wayward curls that had fallen into her eyes.

"No, but thank you," she replied. "It's... complicated."

Gus's head was lowered, looking at his clasped hands resting in his lap. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "Complicated? Is it because of the Muggle war?"

"No, um, not exactly. Not really."

Gus slowly looked up, and his eyes met hers. She couldn't look away from him. His eyes, usually so kind and sparkling with intelligence, were hard, the lines fanning out from their edges as pronounced as she'd ever seen them. 

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Hermione. You can tell me to mind my own business. But don't lie to me. Please."

Hermione reached out, her hand wrapping around his bicep. "Gus, no! I'm not. There's just so much I haven't told you. So much I  _ can't _ tell you. And I so badly want to but I don't know what will happen. And I don't know where to even start. I don't have—"

She cut off, and her hand tightened around Gus's arm as her head spun to the left. 

"Did you...did you see that?"

"No," he replied, peering over her shoulder at the spot she was staring at. "What did you see?"

"It was a flash of light. Like...like the sunlight from the window shifted." She squinted her eyes, staring at the window on the wall of the classroom and the sunny patch currently on the stone floor.

"There!" She pointed, this time to the wall in front of them. "There it is again!"

"Hermione," Gus said, his eyebrows raised as he looked at her face. "I don't see anything."

She turned to look at him, frustrated that he couldn't see what was obviously right in front of their eyes. "How can you not—"

Her gaze was drawn behind him, to the heavy wooden door. It was opening and closing repeatedly, faster than any one person could accomplish. Next to the door, a poster with arithmantic equations appeared on the wall, flickering into visibility and then disappearing again in a split second. It was followed by a poster advertising the Gobstones club and then one for a Valentine's Dance. 

Time.

She was seeing  _ time _ pass on the walls of the classroom. But it wasn't—

She scrabbled for her wand and yanked it out of its scabbard on her wrist. She cast a Tempus making sure she was still correct on the hour. 4pm. She should still have  _ seven  _ hours left.

"Hermione?" The worry in Gus's voice cut through her growing panic. "What's happening?"

He looked at her hand as it rested on her thigh. Or, at least he looked to where her hand should be. Her skin was flickering in and out of existence, each time it reappeared looking more translucent. 

"Merlin, no. It's not time yet." Her breathing became erratic as she stared at her arm, watching as it too began to fade.

The spell was failing early. 

"HERMIONE. What. Is. Happening?"

She looked into his face. His scared, kind, beautiful face. 

"I'm sorry. I thought I had more time. I didn't realise—" she paused as both of her legs faded, the scarred wooden top of the desk visibly through the translucent skin.

"Didn't realise what? Hermione? Should I get help? Hermione?"

"No! Wait—"

The spell began to pull her back to the future, her body now completely faded up to her nose. Her mouth continued to move but no sound came out. 

"Of course I'll wait, Hermione. I'll always wait for you. You're worth it. Just come back to me. As Hogwarts is my witness, I'll wait."

Just before time completely pulled her away from him, Hermione felt magic coalesce around Gus, sparking at his words, his latent magic apparently recognising them as a vow. 

She wanted to scream at him. To yell that she loved him. That he meant so much to her. That he shouldn't wait for her. That she didn't know if she could come back. That she was  _ sorry _ . 

But all she knew was darkness as her body blinked out of existence.

**Present Day**

Time flew once Hermione returned to her own year. She once held time in the palm of her hand, but now she couldn't seem to get enough. Harry and Ron had planned the Gringotts heist, and before she could even sleep in her own bed again, they all were off.  _ Imperio'ing _ goblins and dodging burning galleons and flying on dragons and jumping into lakes.

There's no time to think about Gus. 

Then Hogwarts called them. The Room of Hidden Things beckoned. Diadem and fire and flight. Crabbe. Then Fred. And oh Merlin,  _ Snape, _ and then everything was quiet. Too quiet.

Then Harry. Harry, Harry! No, not  _ Harry. _

Time stood still.

* * *

Hermione saw Harry, cradled in Hagrid's arms like a child.  _ Harry _ . She had to get to Harry. Nothing else was as important as getting to him.

She ran from the safety of the castle's front steps, her sense of her surroundings and self preservation gone. She paid no attention to the fighting resuming around her, the spells whizzing by her head as she ran across enemy lines and the magic that crackled the night air. 

She dropped to her knees on the ground where she saw him tumble from Hagrid's arms. Her eyes darted around the area, unable to see his body through the tears fogging her vision. Where was he? 

Her hands scrabbled through the grass and dirt, reaching for him, hoping her touch wouldn't fail her as her sight had. Maybe someone disillusioned him. Maybe someone wanted to keep his body hidden from desecration. 

The fighting continued around her unnoticed as her arms searched in wild arcs. The Order seemed to gather a second strength, and the Death Eaters fought back, hurling curse after dark curse. Hermione paid it no mind. There was no body.  _ She couldn't find the body. _

Then suddenly, there was a spark of bright white light blinding her even though her head was lowered. Someone came tumbling in from her left side, falling in front of her, face down, blocking the jagged light of the hex. The sickening crunch of impact and an accompanying scream of agonised pain quickly followed. The fallen body was a heap of shabby, drab robes, and the hair on its head was long—past the shoulders—and was a tangled, stringy mess of grey and brown. 

Definitely not Harry. 

Hermione's attention snapped back into focus. Ignoring the injured person in front of her for a moment, she raised her head, her wand already in her hand and and sending a stunner to the Death Eater still sending hexes hurtling her way. The battle was still raging, and she could hear the shouted hexes and the fizzing of spellwork bouncing off the stone walls of the entrance hall. The majority of fighting had moved inside the castle, but she wasn't safe out in the open like she was. The spell this man had taken for her proved that.

She didn't know where Harry was, but dead or alive she couldn't help him now. She needed to move this man and herself to better cover so she could look over his injuries. She stuck her wand between her teeth for easy access and grabbed the man by the back of his robes, dragging him across the grounds as she crawled to a pile of rubble fallen from the Astronomy tower. The man gasped in agony at every jarring bump, and Hermione winced in sympathy. She didn't want to hurt him any more than he already was, but she couldn't risk the attention a  _ mobilicorpus  _ would bring to them.

Reaching her destination, she released the man's clothing and stumbled back to fall on her backside, panting from exertion. She closed her eyes. Thirty seconds to catch her breath, and then she'd see what she could do for his injuries. 

When she got to thirty, her eyes snapped open and she set to work, rolling the man over onto his back to assess the extent of the injury. The front of his robes was covered in blood, the red liquid saturating the wool and staining the dirt where he lay. There was so much blood and so many layers to his clothing, Hermione was forced to use a severing charm on the fabric to get a better look at what was causing the massive bleeding. Pulling apart the sides of his shirt, she gasped.

_ Sectumsempra _ .

She'd only ever seen it once, on George's ear, but that had been a relatively clean slice. This was more like the damage she'd heard of from Harry. The man's entire chest was covered in deep slashes, the cuts scattered from neck to hips. She looked at the damage from the dark spell, trying not to panic. She didn't know how to  _ heal _ it. When George's ear had been hit, Molly had used poultices on it, but even then nothing had stopped the bleeding but time. Time was something she didn't currently have.

Hermione's left hand automatically reached out to the deepest gash and covered it in hopes of staunching the blood flow. Her right hand, meanwhile, scrabbled at her hip, reaching deep into the beaded bag.

" _ Accio _ dittany!"

She let out a growl of frustration as no vial soared into her hand. She must have used the last of it on Professor Snape. " _ Shite." _

She turned her attention fully back to the man and began to tear his shirt into strips, hoping compresses would keep him stable until she could get him up into the castle and with Madam Pomfrey.

Her hands kept busy, and she kept her eyes fixed on her work, desperate to help this person who had so selflessly helped her. 

"Hermione."

At the sound of her name rasped from the lips of her patient, Hermione finally looked at his face.

"No," she groaned. "No no no."

"Leave it, Hermione. There's nothing you can do."

"No! I can! I'll go get help. Madam Pomfrey—"

"Will be too late. It's my time. I can feel it in my bones." He tried to smile but it was twisted with pain. 

Hermione scrambled closer to him, gently raising his head so she could slide her legs under him, cradling him against her chest. One hand carded through his hair, massaging his scalp gently, and the other stroked the side of his cheek. She felt the skin there, rough and wrinkled with time and bitterness but yet still so familiar.

"Gus." She managed to choke out, tears beginning to blur his face. 

"I always knew you'd come back," Gus whispered, looking up at her from where he rested. "It took fifty years, but I knew eventually you would. I just didn't expect you to be eleven."

His chuckle turned into a gurgle as blood sprayed from his mouth. Hermione grabbed the hem of her shirt and wiped the mess away.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have  _ told _ you."

"I waited there for you, in the classroom," he forced out. He raised his hand to cover hers on his cheek, fingers twining with hers. "I didn't know where you went but I was sure you'd be back. You're powerful. I thought if you really cared for me you'd come back. But you never did."

Hermione looked at his face. It was hard. All of this was so  _ hard. _ The face in front of her was the face of the man she and her friends had tried to avoid their entire childhood. The face of an old and bitter and angry man. The face of a man who they thought had been out to get them for seven years. 

She looked into his eyes, and all she could see was Gus. Her Gus.

"I  _ wanted _ to go back. Please,  _ please _ believe me. But I had to…" she removed her hand from his hair and waved it around her, "take care of all of this first."

Gus shifted in her lap, his breath wheezing. The blood had slowed its escape from his wounds but still they seeped with the sticky substance. He didn't have much longer. 

"I know," he coughed, struggling to breathe. "Just glad you're safe now. Mrs Norris and I—we've been keeping an eye on you and your friends. Trying to make sure nothing too bad happened. It was an impossible job."

Hermione smiled wetly down at him and sniffled, trying to staunch the worst of her tears. "We always thought you were trying to get us in trouble."

He struggled to answer. "No, never that. Just keep... you...safe. Loved you...fifty years. Only ever been...you. No one... understood me like you. I stayed here for...you. Didn't want to...miss...when you...came back."

She placed her fingers over his mouth, the blood on his lips staining the tips of her fingers red.

"Shh. Don't speak. Save your breath." A sigh escaped her as his lips pursed and kissed her fingers. "Let me go get help."

"No...my time. Can feel it."

Wracking coughs shook his body, and Hermione cast a simple throat clearing charm, helping him to breathe more easily. At least for a little longer.

"Don't cry... for me, Hermione. You were meant to be… in this time. Don't be like...me." His hand on hers grew stronger, his fingers gripping hers as though desperate for her to listen. "Move...on. Do what makes you happy. Find...someone...makes you happy."

" _ You _ made me happy, Gus. Don't ever doubt that." She leaned down and placed her lips on his forehead, kissing him softly. "I love you."

Gus smiled and closed his eyes. His wheezing slowly subsided, and his blood trickled to a stop. 

Gus Filch had breathed his last breath. 

* * *

Later that night—that morning? Time meant nothing to Hermione anymore— she found herself curled up in her old four-poster bed in Ravenclaw tower. So much had happened. So many people had lost their lives. 

Harry had lived. Voldemort had died and his loyal followers had been disposed of. The war was won.

But it didn't feel like it. It felt like the world was falling apart, crumbling around her even as the Wizarding World celebrated. 

The Weasleys were without a son and brother.

Little Teddy Lupin was without a mum and dad.

Hogwarts was without its greatest Potions Master.

And she—she was without Gus.

She wrapped the black woollen blanket more tightly around herself and breathed in the scent.

_ Freshly mown grass. _

_ New parchment. _

_ Spearmint toothpaste. _

_ Furniture polish.  _

_ Gus. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! Thank you all for trying out this rare pair. I really loved telling their story!
> 
> Thanks again to bionically, alpha and beta extraordinaire. Without her, this wouldn't exist!

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by a request on the Facebook group The Fairest of the Rare for their Love Fest. While I didn't take part in the fest, I saw the request for a Filch/Hermione soulmate fic and was immediately intrigued. Cue a 3am conversation with my Beta, and this story was born. It will be told in three parts, two of which are completely written and beta'd and one of which is heavily outlined. 
> 
> thanks again to Bionically, whose entire fault this is. Please go pop on over to her author page and read her take on the Filch/Hermione Soulmate AU.


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